Chasing Humanity
by Timewalkerauthor1
Summary: Still stranded on Earth, the Third Doctor is pushed into presenting at a technology convention. He resents this mundane task-until he meets a waitress with a secret, and learns something new about being human.


_This story was previously submitted to Big Finish Productions' second annual Paul Spragg Memorial Audio Drama Opportunity. I didn't win, but I did get some recognition from the contest organizers, which was nice. Enjoy!_

 ** _Chasing Humanity_**

It was only a hotel lobby; but from the way the Doctor looked at it, one would think it was a battlefield. His lips were a thin line, and his eyes, though alert as ever, were narrowed. Jo Grant caught the look, and took his arm. "Come on, Doctor, it's not that bad. At least try to enjoy yourself!" She paused and looked around. "I should think this symposium would be your type of thing. What was it the Brigadier said?" She lowered her voice and assumed a haughty accent. "It's the peak of military technology at stake here, Doctor! Who better to send than you, my scientific advisor?"

The Doctor arched an eyebrow at her. "Very talented, Jo. You've missed your calling; it's a pity you were born too late for vaudeville." His scowl deepened, and he started into the room, drawing her in his wake.

Jo sniffed. "Well then. If that's the way you're going to be, perhaps the Brigadier was right. He also said that it would do you good to get out and, you know, interact with people. Spend a little less time in the laboratory."

"The Brigadier employs me specifically for what I do in the laboratory." He steered her around the worst of the crowd.

"Yes, and that's exactly why we're here. You have a lecture to make regarding that work." Specifically, he was to speak on the progress made in the field of emotional manipulation in the wake of last year's tragedy at Stangmoor Prison. The lecture was to concern the efficacy of suppression of emotions in battlefield soldiers. However, that was tomorrow night; and Jo wasn't sure how she was going to make it through the next twenty-four hours with the Doctor.

"Yes, well…" the Doctor muttered. "I suppose we'll have some dinner, then. Where is Sergeant Benton?"

"He's checking in with security and discussing the security arrangements for the symposium. Doctor, this is unlike you–you already knew where he was. Won't you at least try to relax?"

The Doctor, of course, did no such thing. At dinner in the hotel's restaurant, he became increasingly more dour, and even grew short with the waitstaff. The situation was not helped by an encounter with one nervous waitress; glancing around as she crossed the room, she failed to see the Doctor, and stumbled, dumping a tray of canapes into his lap. Fortunately, there was no great mess; but the Doctor's unkind glare sent the mortified waitress scurrying back to the kitchens the moment the wreckage was collected.

The Doctor's mood brightened, however, when they were joined by a short, bearded man in a tweed jacket. "Doctor! So good to see you here! I was quite surprised to see your name on the agenda–care if I join you?"

"Absolutely! Come, sit down!" Suddenly the Doctor was effusive. "Geoffrey, this is my assistant, Miss Jo Grant. Jo, this is Doctor Geoffrey Chambers. Geoffrey is a geologist with Oxford. We met some time ago, when he took a temporary assignment with UNIT in the wake of Project Inferno."

"Yes, quite interesting, it was," Chambers said. "I understand that Ms. Shaw has returned to Cambridge since then? A pity; I was hoping to see her here. Ah, well, we can't have it all, I suppose… Miss Grant, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance! I will say, if you can keep up with this man, you are an extraordinary individual. So tell me, Doctor, what can we look forward to from your presentation?"

In the kitchen, the waitress dropped her tray into a dish bin, and ran out the back door to the alley behind the hotel, ignoring the shouts of the head chef. Shaking, she leaned against the wall, catching her breath. That had been a close call; and she began to wonder, not for the first time, if she could really make this work. Humans were never quite what she expected… still, there was little to be done about it, and less in the way of options. She lifted the hem of her blouse, exposing a square, yellow box on a tight belt around her waist. She regarded the box, which had a thin crack across its surface; she made a minute adjustment to a slide switch on the top, and then covered it again. Setting her nerves, she returned to the kitchen.

Jo was beginning to think that not even the chatty Doctor Chambers could lift the Doctor's spirits for long. As dinner progressed, his scowl, and its attendant rudeness, returned; until finally Jo kicked him beneath the table. "Doctor!" she hissed. "Show a little dignity, please!"

The Doctor set down his napkin and pushed back from the table. "Jo, my dear, I am the very image of dignity. It's this function that is undignified by its very nature!" He stood up. "Geoffrey, it's been a pleasure, and I hope to catch up with you again during our stay. In the meantime, if you'll excuse me…"

Whatever Chambers might have said was interrupted by an odd sight: the waitress who had dropped her tray came running out of the kitchen and past their table, heading for the door. "Well," Jo commented, "at least I'M not the only one having a bad night."

The chef met the waitress as she came in the door. "I'm so sorry," she murmured, "I don't know what happened to me out there, but it won't happen again, I swear."

"Just see that it doesn't," he said. "We are not some diner on the corner, you know. We have a reputation to maintain! I'll not have you making us all look foolish, and especially in front of these military types. If we weren't in the middle of this conference, you would be out the door already! Do you understand?"

She nodded and started to walk away. He scowled and grabbed her hand. "Don't walk away when I'm talking to you! You still have work to do!"

She yanked back her hand. "No, I don't. It's six o'clock, and my shift is over. Just leave me alone!" She turned and ran out into the dining room; as the door swung shut, the chef saw her narrowly miss bumping into the same man on whom she had dumped the canapes. Scowling again, he shook his fist in her direction… and then winced. He opened his hand, and saw that the palm was red and covered in blisters. Now, how had that happened?

Sergeant Benton was no happier than Jo to share the Doctor's company; but as the lone representative of UNIT's armed service, the role of bodyguard fell to him. Not, of course, that there should be a need for a bodyguard here; but UNIT was not in the habit of taking chances. The trio sat in the audience of a lecture on new techniques in small arms production, as near the exit as the Doctor could manage. The Doctor spent the bulk of the lecture muttering irritated remarks about the subject matter, while Benton and Jo exchanged longsuffering looks behind his back. Only when the Doctor's comments began to draw the attention of others in the audience was Benton able to get him to subside.

"Sergeant Benton, if we must endure this interminable lecture, we should at least be treated to accurate interpretations of the data!" the Doctor insisted, not for the first time. "If I wanted to engage in half-baked theories, I would find a coffee shop and take up the social sciences. This is supposed to be a scientific symposium!"

"Doctor, please," Benton said, and raised a hand to forestall interruption. "Your mind might be centuries ahead of us mere mortals, but bear with us while we get there. You'll have your chance tomorrow night, won't you?" The Doctor gave him a withering look, but Benton pressed on. "People are starting to stare. The Brigadier won't be happy with me if I let you get yourself ejected from a seminar. So, please, settle down and just… be in the audience, alright?"

The Doctor drew in a long breath, gave a half-hearted smile, and then nodded. "You're right, Sergeant, of course. I will attempt to…rein in my temper. Such as it–" He stopped, and cocked his head. "Hmm?"

"What?" Jo spoke up from his other side.

"Shh." He raised a finger. "Listen."

Behind them, two security guards stood at the door, one to each side. Over the low drone of the lecture, voices could be heard from their walkie-talkies. "There's something going on in the kitchens," Benton murmured for Jo's benefit. "They're being cautious about what they say, but it sounds serious." At that moment, one of the guards turned and rushed out the door.

"Well," Jo said, "I hope everything will be alri–oh, no," she said. Benton pulled his gaze back from the door, and saw what Jo was seeing: a speculative look of interest on the Doctor's face. "No, Doctor! It's not our problem!"

"Jo is right, Doctor," Benton said. "Let security handle it, whatever it is."

"Handle what?" the Doctor said. "I, for one," he said, standing up, "could do with a bit of refreshment. Care to join me?" He pushed past Jo and strode out the door. Jo and Benton exchanged looks of resignation, and followed.

A circle of the conference's security guards stood near the ovens in the kitchen. A second circle–more of an arc, really–surrounded them, composed of the kitchen staff, and a third arc –the wait staff– stood near the opposite walls. The atmosphere was one of confusion, dismay, and distress. The Doctor strode in as though he owned the place, cape flaring dramatically, and slipped deftly through the outer arcs to the inner circle. "Gentleman," he said, "what do we know so far?"

As one, the guards looked at him incredulously; and then something curious happened, something which Jo was coming to regard as standard procedure for the Doctor: as one, they nodded, and began to explain. She had seen this happen on several occasions, and it never ceased to amaze her; the Doctor would step into a situation armed with nothing but an air of confidence, and people simply… accepted him, as though he belonged there. It was not new, but it remained exceptional.

One guard took the lead. "This is," he said, gesturing down at the body on the floor, "or rather, it was, the head chef, a Mister Richard Farley. He was perfectly fine, as far as anyone can tell, right up to the moment he fell out on this spot. No one saw anything, and nothing strange has been reported. One of the other chefs made some attempt to revive him, but there was nothing to be done."

"A heart attack?" Jo suggested.

The guard was about to answer, but the Doctor beat him to it. "No, I don't think so." He knelt down and turned the body over.

Jo gave an involuntary gasp. "But… he's… he's burned!" Every visible inch of skin was covered in mottled red burns.

"Yes," the Doctor murmured. "Third degree burns, at that. But there's something curious about it. Sergeant, what do you notice about this man's condition?"

Benton knelt down beside him to examine the body. He frowned at the extent of the damage– and then his eyes widened. "His clothes aren't charred. These burns are fresh, and some of them have to have bled, but–"

"Yes," the Doctor agreed. "If he had these burns prior to his shift, well, he wouldn't be here. And he wasn't dressed after the burns, either; if he had been, there would be much more in the way of bloodstains. No, he was wearing these clothes when it happened– but they aren't burned at all." He straightened and returned to the guard. "And you say that no one saw this happen?"

"That's right," the guard said. "He'd been working, giving orders, just like always; and then suddenly, he was dead on the floor." He shrugged. "We assumed it was an equipment accident."

"An equipment–" Benton began, and then stopped. "There's no way that this could have been the result of any of the equipment in this kitchen."

"Then what do you think it was?" the guard said. His tone had gone cool. "Listen, this hotel is full of representatives from every military and scientific establishment in Europe. We will not allow any kind of scandal to interrupt the conference. In a few days, we can go back and revisit the situation, but for now, this is an accident. And that is what we're going to tell the police when they arrive."

The Doctor gave him an even stare. "I see." At that moment a commotion could be heard in the lobby. "Well, then, we'll leave you to it. It sounds like they're arriving now. Jo, Sergeant, come along." He turned and strode out through the dining room, carefully taking the entrance furthest from the incoming policemen.

"Are we just going to let it go?" Jo said, tugging him to a halt in the corridor. "Doctor! You know that was no accident!"

"Of course it wasn't," the Doctor agreed. "The question is, what was it?"

"Well…" She faltered. "I don't know. But you have an idea, don't you?"

"Not yet," he said. "But there is a detail we've overlooked. Or rather, we didn't have time to address it. Come and see." He led them back toward the dining room, stopping in the doorway. From here, there was a clear view into the section of kitchen where the waitstaff still stood, now gathered in a huddle. "Look at them. Do you notice anything strange about them?"

Jo got it this time. "They're all red in the face! Like they were–"

"Sunburned, yes," the Doctor said. "But it's late, and the sun has been down for a few hours. And why would all of the staff, who don't come and go together, have the same burns? Except, of course, for the head chef, who certainly got the worst of it. No," the Doctor declared, "there's more at work here, and I want to know what it is."

The next morning's breakfast brought no answers; but it provided more questions. "The kitchen staff is short this morning," Jo said as she joined the Doctor and Benton at the table. "Four workers called in. Doctor, what do you make of that?"

"I'm not ready to make assumptions yet," the Doctor replied. "Though I suspect–"

"Doctor," Benton interrupted. "People get sick all the time. Maybe it's a virus. We should probably wash our hands once in awhile, but I don't see how this could connect to what happened last night. Or even more likely, they just called in because of the trauma." He glanced at Jo, who shrugged.

"It makes sense to me," she said. "Though I trust the Doctor's hunches, when he has them."

"Well, it's not going to matter this morning," Benton said before the Doctor could recover the conversation. "Doctor, you're due to participate in a panel discussion in ten minutes. Look, I know you aren't happy about it, but the Brigadier said–"

"No, no, it's quite alright," the Doctor said. "I'm looking forward to it, actually. Besides, the tedium will give me time to mull over our situation." He smiled at them, and got up and left the table.

"Was that sarcasm?" Benton said. "Or was he being serious?"

Jo tossed her napkin onto the table. "Oh, who can tell with him?"

An hour into the panel discussion, Jo struggled to stay awake. She found these events more difficult than the lectures; at least those gave interesting new information. This was just debate, and she could get her fill of that in the UNIT offices. The Doctor seemed to be enjoying his part; but here in the audience, the heat and the droning were making her drowsy. Finally, she whispered to Benton and excused herself, and headed for the washroom to freshen up.

In the kitchen, the waitress's hands shook as she listened to her coworkers talking about the death of the head chef. It simply wasn't going to work, she feared. If the local authorities turned their investigative eyes on this place, soon enough they would begin to look into the staff, and then… well, her cover was good enough to get her the job, but she doubted it would stand up to real scrutiny. Perhaps it was time to move on.

The problem was that she would need a new form. It would be best to change now, before slipping out of the hotel; if anyone saw one of the staff leaving when she should be working, they might become suspicious, and she wanted no trail to lead to her. She might not have committed a crime, but she certainly would be a person of interest. That presented a problem, however; it had taken her weeks to prepare this form, using composite features from several individuals. There was no time for that now; she would have to simply copy someone. Well, there was no time like the present–even her world had that cliché–and so she excused herself and headed to the washroom.

The washroom door opened as Jo reached for it on her way out. "Oh, sorry," she said, "I didn't see you there–" The rest of her words were cut off. The door closed on the sounds of a brief struggle, and then there was silence.

Doctor Geoffrey Chambers stepped out of a conference room and into the lobby. If only there had been time to say goodbye to his friend, the Doctor…ah, but here was an answer! "Oh, Miss Grant, it's so good to see you!" he called out, and stopped the young woman with a touch. She gave him a glance that, had he noticed it, would have been taken as bewilderment; but she stopped. He paid no mind, and kept talking. "I was hoping to say goodbye to the Doctor, but I see from the schedule that he's occupied at the moment. I wonder if you could convey my greetings to him? You see, I have to leave early– my daughter is, well, expecting– I received a call that the baby is on the way… she'll be expecting me at the hospital eventually, you see–"

The young woman was caught off guard by the torrent of speech, but she managed a nod. "I'll– I'll let him know, yes."

He gave her an effusive smile, and then unexpectedly embraced her. "Splendid!" Abruptly, he realized what he was doing, and pulled back. "Oh… er… well, you must forgive me and my scattered brain today. It's been quite the pleasure to meet you, Miss Grant! Do take care of the Doctor, please. Ah, if you'll excuse me, I must gather my things." He turned and made his way to the elevators.

Jo gave the man a final, long look, and then turned to complete her own exit. She made it ten paces before she was interrupted again, this time by the Doctor and Benton as they exited the panel discussion. "Ah, Jo, there you are!" Benton said. "Ready for lunch?"

"Lunch? Oh… I, ah…" she stammered, but the Doctor took her arm. "Oh, well, that won't be… necessary…" she trailed off as he started toward the dining room.

"Nonsense, Jo," he said, "we'll all do better with a good meal. And then we can begin to look into last night's events." At his side, Jo stiffened, but he didn't seem to notice. She glanced away, but Benton was on her other side. There was nothing for it but to go along.

Jo said little during the meal, and only picked at her food. Finally the Doctor stood up, and Benton followed suit; Jo did likewise. At the door of the dining room, the Doctor stopped her. "Jo, are you feeling alright? You look unwell."

A way out! Suppressing a smile of relief, Jo glanced up at him and quickly shook her head. "I– I think I'd better go lie down. Headache," she added by way of apology.

"Oh, alright," Benton said, "We'll take a look around and try to piece together what we can about last night–" Jo gave him a startled look before she could stop herself–"but first, we'll walk you to your room. Right, Doctor?"

"Oh, no, that won't be–"

"Absolutely, Sergeant!" the Doctor overrode her. "Truth be told, Jo, I must admit I was rather rude to you last night. If you'll allow me, I'll make it up to you in courtesy now." He was already starting toward the elevators. Irritated, she followed, with Benton bringing up the rear.

The Doctor and Benton saw Jo into her room, and heard the lock click before turning away. "She's acting odd, isn't she?" Benton said as they made their way down the hall.

"Quite. But she isn't the only one acting strangely in this hotel… nevertheless, she should feel better after a nap." They rounded the corner toward the elevators. "I would think– eh, what's this?"

Ahead, a small crowd consisting of the concierge, two security guards, and a housekeeper had gathered around an open door. A third guard poked his head out of the doorway as the Doctor and Benton approached. "Call for a doctor!" he instructed the concierge.

"I'm a doctor," the Doctor interjected as they reached the crowd. "What's going on?" The concierge gave him an odd look–too much good fortune, perhaps, that a doctor would already be on hand–but he allowed them in. "The front desk received a call from this room, asking for help," he said. "He sounded as though he was in pain."

"Indeed he was," the Doctor said as he knelt. There, on the floor, lay Doctor Geoffrey Chambers, who was covered head to foot in severe burns, burns which left his suit and tie untouched. Unlike the unfortunate head chef, he was still breathing.

"Geoffrey," the Doctor said gently, then more forcefully: "Doctor Chambers! Can you hear me?"

Chambers' eyes opened, revealing bloodshot whites and darting irises. "D-Doctor? Is that you? Oh, what's happened to me?"

"Lie still, Geoffrey. We'll get an ambulance." He motioned to the concierge, who nodded and went for the room phone. "Geoffrey, I need you to tell me what happened to you. How did you get these burns?"

"They… they just… erupted, all over me. Very quick. So… painful. Doctor, I… I'm dying. And my… grandchild… I won't see…"

The man was slipping away. "Geoffrey," the Doctor said, "who have you seen in the last hour? Who did you see last?"

Chambers looked puzzled. "Why… the last… it was your lovely assistant, Miss… Miss Grant." He exhaled then, a final breath that lasted too long, and was gone.

The Doctor exchanged a dark look with Benton. "The ambulance can see to Doctor Chambers. Sergeant, I think we'd better get back to Jo. Come on!" They leaped to their feet and ran from the room, leaving the startled staff behind.

"What's going on, Doctor?" Benton said as they ran. "And why Jo?"

"Because," the Doctor said as they reached Jo's door, "I fear Miss Grant is not herself at the moment. Listen, I don't have time to explain it now; we'll save it for later." He pulled a short, silver rod–his sonic screwdriver–from his pocket, and aimed its circular head at the door. The screwdriver buzzed, and the lock clicked open. Benton threw the door open, and they burst inside.

Jo was nowhere to be seen. The window on the far side of the room stood open, curtains blowing in the breeze from the alley below. They ran to the window and leaned out. Two window ledges over, a fire escape snaked down the back of the building; Jo Grant was making her way down the iron stairs. Already she was nearly at the bottom. "Sergeant Benton," the Doctor said, "go downstairs and find Jo, the real Jo. If I'm right, you'll find her somewhere in the building, unconscious. I'll retrieve the imposter. Go!" Not waiting for an answer, he climbed out the window.

Benton searched the lower floors with military efficiency. Storerooms, offices, conference rooms, lecture hall– all proved empty. He stopped by the front desk, fists on his hips, and looked around, pondering. If she was nowhere to be found down here, that meant searching the guest rooms… which would take time and manpower that he didn't have. There had to be something he'd overlooked.

A thought occurred to him. Deliberately, he set aside his own thoughts, and tried to put himself in Jo's shoes. She had to have been taken during the panel discussion, when she left the room… where would she have gone? When he realized the obvious answer, he kicked himself, and then turned and ran for the ladies' room. Fifteen seconds later, in a locked stall at the back, he found a very disgruntled Jo Grant, wearing a waitress uniform and just beginning to awaken. Her face, he noticed, was red with what appeared to be a sunburn.

By the time the Doctor reached the bottom of the fire escape, the woman who wore Jo's face had reached the open end of the alley. He pounded after her, calling out Jo's name– for he didn't know what else to call her– but to no avail. She gave him a single look, and turned left onto the crowded sidewalk.

He was in better shape than his appearance would suggest, and he narrowed the gap; but it wasn't going to be enough. Soon she would reach a more crowded public plaza ahead, and there he would lose her. He poured on as much speed as he could muster– and then skidded to a halt. Just ahead of her, a fire hydrant stood on the sidewalk. It was a dirty trick, perhaps, but any port in a storm…

At the carefully-aimed buzzing of the sonic screwdriver, the cap popped off of the hydrant; and then, as the woman passed, the valve spun. A torrent of water knocked her from her feet, leaving her dazed in the street.

The Doctor caught up as she began to pick herself up. He shut off the water, and turned his attention to her… and saw that ripples were spreading across her skin, like waves in a pond. "Careful now," he said, "let me help you." He pulled off his cape and draped it over her, careful not to touch her directly, and then helped her to her feet. "Come on, let's get you back to the hotel."

"No!" She started to pull away, but his grip on her arm through the cape stopped her.

"My dear," he said, "I assure you I am not trying to harm you–but in a matter of moments, everyone on this street will see you in your true form. I can't say I know what that will be, but I suggest you may want to prevent that outcome. If you'll come with me, I can help you."

She looked as though she still intended to bolt– until another ripple ran across her form. Finally she nodded, and started walking with him.

The ripples were coming faster as the Doctor and the woman entered the lobby. Benton and Jo waited in chairs near the dining room; they leaped to their feet as the bedraggled duo entered. "Doctor!" Jo shouted. "What– What's going on here? Who is she?"

"Patience, Jo, we haven't time to talk just yet. If the two of you will come with me…" Still leading the soaked imposter, he escorted them into the kitchen, and quickly sent the staff out. "A minute or two, that's all I need," he said, "and you can all get back to work."

When they were alone, the Doctor stepped back from the woman. "Jo, Sergeant Benton, allow me to introduce Lorana Sitel, of the Charidzi people. Lorana, you should turn it off now, I think. You're safe here." The woman nodded, and reached to a box hanging from her– or rather, Jo's– belt. Her form rippled again, and changed, flowing like water from head to foot. Where a perfect duplicate of Jo Grant had stood, there was now a much taller figure, taller than Benton or the Doctor, slender and willowy, with a high forehead and a bald skull. Her skin glinted in shades of blue and silver, and– most strikingly– she had four eyes, two on each side of her face, each pair aligned vertically. Her fingers were long and bore more joints than human fingers, but had no nails. She still wore Jo's clothes, but ill-fittingly on her long frame.

"A… shapeshifter?" Benton murmured.

"Quite. Lorana, would you care to explain why you're here on Earth? If it isn't too painful, please," he added gently.

She nodded. "My planet is a lot like your Earth. We have some technology that exceeds yours, but culturally, we're not that different." Her voice–which was similar to that she had used in her waitress form, but with a reedy lilt–became wistful. "I am nothing special. On my planet, I was perfectly happy. I was… what would you call it… a travel agent? I arranged holidays for people. I had a husband, and two children. My life was quiet." She paused. "And then, my family were lost. They were coming to visit me for a meal one day while I worked, and their vehicle lost control and struck another. The other driver survived… my family did not. I was suddenly alone."

"The Charidzi," the Doctor said, "have an empathic power. They sense the emotions of others. It's not as invasive as telepathy, but it can still be overwhelming at times. It may sound strange, but as a result, sympathy is not a strong trait for the Charidzi. After all, it's hard to be sympathetic when you feel every pain, every awkwardness, every moment of judgment."

"I couldn't take it," Lorana said. "I couldn't stand watching them all look at me, and feel the things they were feeling, and not be able to stop it. So, I left. I scheduled a trip for myself, to several planets. And when I reached yours, I decided it would be a good place to disappear."

"But, what about the deaths?" Jo said.

"The Charidzi are not biological shapeshifters," the Doctor said. "It is not a natural ability, but a technological one. It takes advantages of some unique genetic traits, and allows them to change form." He indicated the device Lorana still held. "The power source of that device emits an unusual form of radiation, which also is found in the light of the Charidzi sun. The Charidzi are quite immune to its effects; their bodies soak it up without harm. Humans are not so fortunate. And as you can see, Lorana's device is damaged. She was not aware of the risk, of course; it's quite harmless to her Charidzi DNA, even in human form. Unfortunately, she's been emitting a low dose of radiation to everyone around her."

"The sunburned faces," Jo said.

"Yes, Jo, including your own. But this type of radiation can be communicated through touch, as well, assuming the one doing the touching has absorbed enough of it. Lorana, I am going to guess that you touched the head chef last night, didn't you?"

"He touched me," she said. "He grabbed my hand after I dropped my tray on you. I'm… I'm sorry about that."

"No matter there," the Doctor said. "Unfortunately you had no way to know what would happen to him. Nor did you know what would happen to Professor Chambers. I am going to guess that he accosted you when you were trying to get away. And the reason you were fleeing is because you feared suspicion in the wake of the first death. Am I right so far?" She nodded.

"I didn't know," she murmured. "I never meant to hurt anyone. I came here to not be hurt. When I'm in human form, my empathic sense is dulled. It seemed safe."

"And so it is." The Doctor straightened. "The question, though, is what to do with you now? We can't have you running around exposing people to radiation. As it turns out, I too am not of this world; and I imagine my people could get you home. But that would be to return you to veritable torture. A dilemma, eh?"

"Doctor," Jo said. "There could be another way."

Jo and Benton sat in the audience, listening to the Doctor's lecture. "What do you think, Jo?" Benton said quietly. "Did we make the right choice? More importantly, I suppose: Did Lorana?"

Jo gave it a moment's thought. "I think she did. And I think we did too."

"Well," Benton said, "now that the Doctor repaired her transformation device, she won't have to worry about hurting anyone. On the other hand, I suppose she'll have to learn to be human."

"Well, she was already on her way to that," Jo said. "Besides, that's not such a bad goal, is it? To be human?"

"Not at all." Benton pointed to the stage. "When do you think our resident alien will understand that?"

"Sergeant Benton," Jo said, "if there is one thing the Doctor will never be, it is human." She said it with a smile, though.

Onstage, the Doctor was beginning to wrap up his presentation. "While the research indicates that full emotional suppression is possible," he said, "I feel obligated to recommend against its use, in soldiers, or in any other profession. In addition to the long-term risks that I've already noted, I'll simply say in conclusion that emotions are a vital part of what makes a person human. Of course too much, in the wrong place and time, can be a hazard–as some of you may well know." For a moment, he caught Jo's eye. "We must of course have every aspect of ourselves in its proper context. But, regardless of the effect on our performance, to eliminate our emotions would make us something less than we are– and far less than what we should be."

In the audience, Jo turned to Benton with a smile. "Maybe," she said, "he's learning something after all.


End file.
